


Stabilizing.. (Soldier: 76 x Reader)

by SecretShameWriting



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Mild Language, kinda angsty, kinda slow-burn, tw for wound cleaning and stitching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 17:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretShameWriting/pseuds/SecretShameWriting
Summary: You had basically forced your way into his little operation here, and now you were indispensable. Over time he had cracked, at first not wanting you to be anything more than an asset, but he sure as hell missed having a team. Knowing he had someone to watch his back, and someone he was responsible for too- it helped ground him in the present instead of being a ghost of the past.





	Stabilizing.. (Soldier: 76 x Reader)

_C’mon, soldier. Move! Move! Move!_ The old days at boot camp always stuck with him, had helped him become who he was. That, and all the chemicals. A long time ago, he had been Jack Morrison, Strike Commander of Overwatch. Now he associated more with the title than the name. Jack had died in the explosion in Switzerland, he’d been to the grave out at Arlington. A Soldier was all he was now, one that went by 76 for anonymity, and the drill sergeant barked in his head “Never leave a teammate behind.”

Your eyes twisted from the laser focus they’d had, looking down the cement hallway at the far end where a door was labeled with reflective stickers like you might find on a mailbox. _The old man is rambling again_ you thought, but looking at the mask that covered him from eyebrow to chin you had no way to be sure. 76 was convinced you had a concussion, so it _could_ all be in your head. You tried looking back at what had previously stopped the world from spinning, but while your eyes trailed their way back down the hall the way you came, you noticed “We left an awful lot of blood.”

“ _You_ ” 76 corrected in that gruff voice of disapproval. “And besides, there’s a blood stain on the wall by the vending machine. No one saw us, and there wasn’t any shots fired here. A trail of blood means nothing at a seedy place like this.”

True. The only thing this place had going for it was it didn’t charge by the hour, so at least there was that to cut down on the foot traffic. 

You watched the splotchy white railing that was fixed to the outward side of the hallway, being eaten away by rust dancing like heat waves off of asphalt in the summertime. There was definitely a major blood loss factor working into your wobbly consciousness. It was a good thing you had the Soldier there, a strong arm around your waist to hold you up since for all you could tell your left side was still not operational, you couldn’t feel it yet anyway. Only your right side worked, the full organics, fingers clutching onto a strap of his shoulder holsters and one leg holding your weight. “We should have had that room..” you mumble to yourself this time, thinking the text of the glossy numbers at the end of the hall matched that on the back of his jacket, if you squint. 

The pulse rifle was the first thing through the door, tossed underhand to slightly spring off the closest mattress before settling. In one motion you were lifted over his shoulder and were through the doorway. His other hand pulled the key and slammed the door, and grabbed the medical kit on the table while briskly walking you back to the bathroom. Setting you down on the lid of the toilet the first thing 76 did was activate a biotic field, leaving the device to balance on the far edge of the ceramic sink basin. It could only be so useful, especially with limited charges, but it was the reason you had made it this far. 

“First of all,” he stated matter of factly, “if I’m going to patch you up the suit’s gotta come off.” 

“Jesus Christ,” you said in complete bewilderment of how you could make such a normally simple task happen. It had been a long day. “I’ll try, sir.” Weakly, and with one hand you unclipped the buckles holding your own bandoliers, and unzipped the HSI armor suit. It was meant to help protect you but now it was your greatest enemy. Even in unzipping it and the flex in the otherwise tightly fitting garment it became apparent that dried blood attached the frayed edges of the resilient weave to the open wounds scattered across your torso and it was already starting to pull and rip. 

You had worked it up, not even to your belly button yet, cringing and biting back groans of pain. That all went out the window when it was ripped over your head. You scream in agony while from the experienced combat veteran explains “You’re bleeding out. We don’t have time to baby it.”

You weren’t sure if he was cleaning your wounds with turpentine or what but ever since the suit had been ripped off your nerves alternated between stinging and burning, telling the story of every cut and scrape on your back. Leaning against 76’s leg was the only thing had stopped you from hitting the floor, and even though the smaller nicks’ pain ebbed the larger ones only grew. It didn’t help when they were violated by the point of a pair of tweezers. You tried to rear away from the unnatural feeling but found the old man's forearm had your chest pinned to his thigh. _Tink._ The soft sound of a chunk of glass hitting the ceramic was followed shortly by more. But you supposed getting thrown through several plate glass windows would do that.

There was no pain meds in sight, and even anything readily available would be more on the side of an NSAID and only make you bleed more. So instead you did your best to tough it out, grunting and groaning, sucking in anguished breaths. He didn’t complain but you were most certainly digging your nails into 76’s leg too hard where you were bracing yourself. 

“You’re going to need stitches.” 76 explained, while he eased you up to lean back against the tank. He took a sidestep to open the medical kit, withdrawing the surgical steel needle and the microfilament line. You had done the same for him before, so it was simply time to return the favor. And with a sideways glance he decided to grab the bar of soap too, stating “Here.”

You stared aghast at the green block. “You know I’m gonna be cussing and preemptively washing my mouth out with soap?” 

“Not taking the chance you’d bite your tongue off, so shut up and bite down.” all but shoving it into you mouth. Taking the same position you had prior he assuaged you back down to lean against his leg. He was about to start the process, but took the second to give you reassurance. “There’s three that are going to need it. Stay still, and we’ll have this over with quick.”

“Bones heal, pain is temporary,” you said with all the weight of a mantra, taking a breath to calm yourself and finishing with “and scars look good.” before chomping down on what was your improvised bit. The alkali taste already mixed with your saliva, coating your tongue, but it was a small distraction from the pain. Gripping on, even straining what you could feel above your left elbow to wrap behind his knee, you nodded.

You felt the distinct moment the point of the needle poked through your skin, felt the thread sliding through, the two severed sides of flesh touch, and the tug of the knot. Over and over. You had tried to count but instead focused more on biting down, it helped you to dissociate, which was as good as you could do without any anesthetic. There was something satisfying about the waxy feel of it giving way to your teeth. 

_Scars_ , 76 remarked to himself as he worked. He had battled the world over, seen some of the worst violence in mankind; some stitches in a bathroom were pretty tame. Still, he worried. _She’ll have a few more of those now._ The thought brought his eyes away from his work, just for a moment, to flit up to the brazen, jagged line of scar tissue that traced down from the hairline on the back of your neck to your left trapezius. Pulling together another knot he thought how it was one you had carried with you most of your life, that had been your souvenir of the End of the Crisis while he had gotten medals. And now you were going to be covered in them, all because you were foolish enough to help an old man that didn’t know when to quit.

You focused on your breathing, and before you knew it you were done, feeling the tap on your shoulder before the two large hands closed on your biceps to help pull you to your feet. 

Instinctually you stumbled to the sink, spitting the soap out to skate around the basin with a deep and complete set of your dental records along for the ride. Handful after handful of water wasn’t enough to get the taste of whatever idyllic spring you were sure was as fake as the Leprechaun on the box out of your mouth. Your tongue still thrust in reaction to the lingering zing of freshness, stuck to the back of your throat it was enough to make you want to vomit even if you couldn’t be that dramatic. You had registered the sensation of gauze pads being taped to your back but it was only as you caught your reflection in the mirror, seeing 76 standing behind you, stoically caring for your wounds. 

When had he removed his tactical visor? You weren’t sure, but you took comfort in the small things, sighing as you straighten your elbows to push yourself up off of the sink. You could still remember a time when he even slept with the damn thing on just so you wouldn’t see his face. The feeling of gravel in your skin dug at your forearm, and feeling more confident now that the servos in your left hand wouldn’t give out and send you back down into the sink you picked up and turned your right arm to investigate. A pebble of sticky red glass had made a small indent in your skin, it seemed to like to you, first your back now your arm. You plucked it lightly, and gathered the rest of the handful discarded in the impromptu work area and tossed them right in the trash can. 

You used your palm to wipe droplets of water from beside your mouth, and taking a moment of reprieve before saying “Good lookin out, old man.” and taking another breath before offering a sincere, truly from the heart “Thank you.” 

“We’re not done,” 76 had a hint of amusement, in the mirror you could see him raise one eyebrow as he explained, “Hate to be the bearer of bad news but your leg is next.”

You looked down, seeing the small pool of blood forming near your heel. Your boot was full of enough blood it had found some way out. Twisting your leg you winced in pain and held onto the sink, groaning “Oh. There is _definitely_ glass in there.” It grated against muscle tissue and nerves. “Thaaat’s gonna be fun.” Sarcasm was always a good coping mechanism. _But at least it isn’t in my buttcheek_ you allowed, already almost doubling over again. 

Fingers pushed inside the waistband, and you knew they were about to get the same ‘ripping a bandaid off’ treatment as your shirt had. Immediately you pleaded “The suit is already ruined, just cut ‘em off.” 

76 had hated the suit, he thought it made you act like you were tougher. More foolhardy than anything. But you had adored it the moment you came across it one of Helix Securities bases, and it was the first time you felt like you had a real uniform. You had finally been really, really ready for combat. _Shhhrrrip!_ The blade of the knife glided right through the fabric after the initial yanking, saw motion it took to start. 

“Their mach 2 better have some improvements. This armorweave was shit.” You spoke just to say something, trying to be casual, even to take your own mind off of the fact that was now settling in. You hadn’t been down to your skivvies in front of the Soldier before, even though there had now been months of you sharing hotel rooms all over the world. It had never come up. 

Embarrassed, in mismatched bra and panties with half of your ass hanging out, you looked to the ceiling and blinked rapidly to hold back the tears that tried to well up. Not even so much out of shame, or your lack of confidence in your body image- even if it was a turbulent pool of several confusing emotions. It was more about concern. Concern for the man that was showing you so much right now. You gripped onto the porcelain of the free standing sink much like he had been your anchor previously as again the point of tweezers dug into your skin.

76 grunted. “Looks like it shattered. This might be ugly.” Not that he couldn’t fix it up, but there was going to be a lot of digging in tender meat to get at all the shards. Tightening his grip on the handful of thigh he had, he gulped and took another appraising look at the gash. 

A hiss broke into a dry sob as you felt a particularly barbed piece slide out, and you could only guess some flesh went with it. “I’m sorry,” you blurted it out as a new wave pain came crashing down to not help your watering eyes. You meant for everything, but the fact that weighed on you most in this moment was that “The mission was a failure. We didn’t get what we were after..” 

Readjusting his grip, coming at it from a new angle 76 used his thumb and the blade of the hand holding the tweezers to pull the wound apart, able to see even the small pinpoint of the foreign object glistening in your blood. He glanced up, questioning your sentiment, because he had a new mission: Getting you all patched up. 

“And I’m really sorry.” You were only digging yourself deeper into misery at this point. “I.. unh- agH!” Maybe talking wasn’t the best idea but you wiped away the only stream of tears you were going to allow away before clamping your arm tighter onto the edge of the basin, the cold seeping into your skin. “The spider tank-- I. I didn’t know what else to do.” Reactivating what had been a previously disabled piece of hardware that had been somewhat of a museum piece for remembrance and stored for safekeeping inside of the warehouse you had raided, and was now a pile of scrap-- it had been your only play when the troops closed in. 

You didn’t know much about Soldier: 76, but you did know he was a former Overwatch agent. That he had fought in the Omnic Crisis. And more than anything you worried that activating a raging omnic killing machine designed for one purpose…. Might have hit him too close to home. Several times in your travels his PTSD had been apparent, and though he didn’t seem to have been bothered by it you weren’t exactly in a state to assess someone else mentally, and you were drowning in guilt.

“It was a last re-” you sucked in a breath mid-word as your nerves lit up from toe to cranium, _feeling_ the metal against glass against meat. “Resort. I … just hope it-it didn’t…” You trailed off as you didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. How do you show respect to someone you probably just made relive Hell on Earth? You had no idea.

He’d thought he’d seen it all. Lived it all already. But here, bared and bleeding, him with the necessary yet torturous job… through the pain your anxiety was for _his_ well being. You were worried you had done him some sleight, when the fact was you had singlehandedly saved both of you with that stunt. Just the kind of thing he used to do. 

Under his breath, and entirely to himself he expressed his own sentiment with a scoff, calling you a “Sweet girl..” 

Before long he had his sweet girl taken care of, all wounds closed and dressed. He left you standing at the sink, returning with a clean shirt from your suitcase that he helped pull over your head. He held your arms as you stepped out of the other leg of your pants that didn’t get cut off of you, and stabilized you as you kicked off your boots. 

Guiding you to the bed, 76 chastised “You need to rest. But no sleep for..” looking to the watch on his wrist and approximating the time of the injury “two and a half more hours.”

You nodded, weary, even more tired now that you felt the welcoming embrace of a mattress. 

“What can I get you from the vending machine?” his tall frame stooped low to the ground in a squat to look eye to eye with you. 

“Cookies?” You weren't hungry, but knew he was going to make you eat anyway; with the blood loss you needed fluids to replenish it and sugar to replace where your levels had surely dropped through the floor. You couldn't recall the poor selection available so you offered a few options. “Doritos? A coke?” As an afterthought you smiled and added “Thanks, old man.”

The TV clicked on, to what channel you couldn’t even guess. “Remember, no dozing off.” 76 chided, before storming off with purpose and leaving you with your thoughts that were jumbled and vague. It did serve to help you remember however. 

Panic struck as he returned to the room and you weren't where he’d left you. Standing in the doorway he took the obligatory look around to access the situation. It was quiet and you couldn't have gone far. The sweep of the small room quickly turned up with you sitting on the floor of the bathroom, leaning against the bathtub with one arm perched on the rim, your tattered suit pulled close, and the field computer sitting on your lap. 

“I forgot” you had started to explain before you were interrupted by the rough, you-should-be-ashamed-of-yourself tone.

“What are you doing?”

“I recovered a data pack,” you announced proudly, lifting it up for proof, “and the EMP didn't fry it or anything! There is some corruption but mostly it looks like--”

The cord that tethered the data pack to the laptop pulled it from your considerably unimpressive grip, and 76 snatched it up as it fell. He grabbed the computer and still with an armful of snacks he carted it to the other room to set on the table. You were the second load. 

Unapologetically you were plopped back down onto the shoddy springs. 76 gathered your pillows into a stack to prop you up before handing you the remote. A buffet of snacks rained down to the empty bed beside you: three bags of non-dorito chips for your selection, a sleeve of lightly salted peanuts, and a whole package of mini Famous Amos cookies. “No coke?” you poked while ripping open the bag of crunchy Cheetos.

“Juice.” 76 replied flatly as he settled in a chair, propping his feet up on the long, squat dresser that also served as TV stand and pulling the laptop onto his legs. “The point is to get hydrated.”

You scoffed and made an uppity face you were sure he saw out of the corner of his eye, before settling in and flipping through channels. Nothing was on, of course, so you settled on an old John Wayne movie as a placeholder, going back to surf on commercials just incase anything had changed. It didn't.

A rough pat on the fleshy part of your leg awoke you from a nap you hadn't realized you started taking. “Not yet,” 76 checked his watch “Thirty-six more minutes.” 

You groaned an acceptance and popped a cookie in your mouth as you hit the channel up button again. But really you watched as the Soldier settled back into his spot, ripping off a bite of the beef jerky that made up his dinner while moving the computer back onto his lap. With the occasional click, and lots of scrolling he scoured the miscellaneous administrative reports housed on the old piece of equipment. He might have found something good, you hoped he did, as he picked up the fist sized rectangular hunk of metal and turning it over to smirk at the fading Overwatch insignia on the back. 

You had no idea but for _his_ reality this nostalgia was worse than fighting an Omnic tank, and he tormented himself with it all the time. This was his mission now, his new war after Overwatch had been disbanded was to uncover what had happened to it. He lived in old mission reports, data logs, even invoices, and it never failed to put him right back in the old HQ. He could still remember exactly what his office looked like, the taste of strong coffee that got left on the burner too long as he read through briefings. 

He got lost in it, and by the time he looked to his watch it was twenty minutes past the four hour mark for your concussion and there you were dozing off once again. 76 resigned himself to the fact he’d found all he was going to today, and as usual he still hadn't uncovered anything he wanted. So stripping down out if his gear, 76 showered and prepped himself for sleep. 

You stirred when you felt the mattress shift, finding 76 kneeling beside you. The soft look in his eye gave you a hint to what kind of shape you were really in as he checked with a penlight how your pupils dilated. He began the interrogation with the standard name, date, location. You got the last wrong, but since you two were always on the move it seemed fair to give you that. 

“Are you feeling dizzy?” 

“I’m sitting,” you sat up slightly from where you had slumped to nap, “but no vertigo.”

“Ringing in your ears? Spots in your vision? Nausea?”

You shook your head in response to all. Then 76 touched the tip of his nose with his left index finger, then the right, then left again and you mimicked it just as he wanted. 

“Headache?” he asked, already assuming the answer. 

“Yes but _all_ of me aches, it's not exclusive to my head.” You stretched a bit despite the howl of your nerves, covering your face with a bit of your hands before nestling back. There was one thing that concerned you, that you know you better bring up now before you get yelled at about it later. “I… still don't have full feeling back in my left side.. The nerves, _wiring.._ ” you corrected “The EMP may have spared the drive but _my_ mechanical parts…”

You glanced down to your left side, articulating the gears of what had been your left hand for the last twenty years, a few mods aside. You raised and lowered your left leg, the metal knee stark compared to flesh that sat above it. They functioned but you could feel somehow it wasn't right. Instinctually the next place you checked was to slip your hand around the base of your skull, doing your best to hide your fear as you looked up into the eyes that had seen so much. “Am I going to be alright?”

“Well,” 76 started, but he was neither a doctor or an engineer, “as far as the concussion I think you’ll be fine. But I am going to wake you up through the night to check on you anyway.” You nodded in agreement that that was the best thing to do. “And.. tomorrow we’ll find an Omnic to fix you up.” 

As much as he was a grumpy old man, the mix of worry and assurance on his face was nothing short of touching. You smiled at him thoughtfully before a yawn broke it. Wiping your eyes and rolling over you disassembled the pillow stack, tucking one between your knees to keep the bone off of the steel. The others were a combo for your head and to snuggle. Entering optimal sleeping position as the bed groaned from 76 standing up. 

There was the whisper of another hand on another pillow, grabbing the one he kept for himself as any excess was always funneled to you. It was followed by something quite unusual. “Is it okay..” the voice normally full of confidence and command was unsure, tentatively posing “if I lay here? To keep an eye on you.”

You had just been slipping under part of the covers while now wondering if you should pull them down further for him. “Uh-huh.” you bobbed your head along. You knew he never slept with covers, he always ran as hot as a furnace, but still had to question it in the moment. Saving him and yourself from any more awkwardness than the day already had to offer you rolled over and closed your eyes. 

The springs creaked in protest as the tall man curled down on the other side than yours. His back was to you as he faced the door and the clock on the nightstand table. Clicking through his watch he quietly announced “I’ll wake you up in two hours to check in…. Good night.” 

“Night.” you mumbled into the pillow. Though you wondered what sparked the fact he was going to stay so close when really anywhere in the room wouldn't have been much different, but it was a comfort leaving you feeling safer and more secure than ever. That and the green light to finally sleep, you didn't wonder too long before you drifted off. 

The same couldn’t be said of your bed companion. Try as he might to clear his mind for sleep, it never came. Instead he was flooded with memories of Reyes.. Ana… Press conferences came back to him unbidden. Protests from the final days of Overwatch, civilians gathering in the streets to wave signs and yell at him. Everytime he pushed a thought away a new one came to take its place. 

As much as he told himself Jack was dead, his life constantly bled into the new one he had tried to fabricate. Even recalling his days, more than a lifetime ago, back on the farm didn't help. His parents were dead, and he hadn’t gotten to attend their funeral because for all they knew they’d outlived their son. The family farm was gone, some company snagging up the land. Summer days off school and working from dawn to dusk on every chore imaginable was washed away in the tide of corporate greed that was as much a part of Overwatch’s fall as the abuses of Blackwatch. 

Peeking open an eye to examine the face of his watch, it had only been twenty minutes and he had skimmed the footnotes of some fifty odd years. 76 sighed, and propped up on an elbow enough to turn and appraise your sleeping form. You had basically forced your way into his little operation here, and now you were indispensable. Over time he had cracked, at first not wanting you to be anything more than an asset, but he sure as hell missed having a team. Knowing he had someone to watch his back, and someone he was responsible for too- it helped ground him in the present instead of being a ghost of the past. 

But he was a stranger to you, and for that fact he barely knew anymore about you than you knew about him. When he woke you up in an hour what was he even going to ask you? How old were you when you lost your limbs and parents in a terrorist attack?? That was the most personal thing he knew, and even asking in a way where it was worded like ‘What was the name of the Omnic that saved you?’ it was still too close to bringing up the single most painful memory of your life. 

If only he knew something simple like ‘the name of the street you grew up on’ or ‘favorite flavor of ice cream’... No. With you two questions to assess your mental acuity that you both knew the answer to were better left to operational codename Q&As. 

He made a mental note to take the time to get to know you better, know more about you than just this, the next time you were stuck in a car for twelve hours. The sun was starting to rise, businesses were opening, and the day could get started with the hunt to find an omnic to repair your prosthetics- but he also wanted you to sleep as long as you were able. So, he was just going to take this two hours at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> I have ideas for a continuation on this, but nothing written yet.


End file.
